


Ocean's Heart

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alice makes this so much harder than need be, C'mon, F/F, Kiss The Girl, and some angst, lots of 'omggggg' moments, there's some kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-16 19:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21276503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: My name is Alice Cogsworth, and I'm going to die today.Well, damn. That's a horrible way to start a story.Let's try again.My name is Alice Cogsworth.Thus begins a story of intrigue, romance, and one woman's entire world being shaken, not stirred.(also kissing)(lots of smooching)





	1. My Name Is Alice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice's day ends bad

My name is Alice Cogsworth, and I'm going to die today.

Well, damn. That's a horrible way to start a story.

Let's try again.

My name is Alice Cogsworth. 

My mother’s name is Lindiwe, last name was Roux, before I was born at least. She was brought over here in a rickety old boat that fell apart the moment Granny stepped her foot on the ramp to the pier. Mom went to a pretty rad college when she got older, although she immediately signed up for the army when she could. When Granny and Paw showed me pictures of her, you would’ve never known she was fated to be the fiercest drill sergeant this side of Philly. Afro style hair, bandanna wrapped around the bottom of it, bell-bottom jeans with a funny stringy top as she gave peace signs to whoever was taking the image.

Now she’s straight backed, short braided hair that’s hidden under a dark green cap. No more bell bottoms, but she wears fuzzy pajama pants at home when she’s off, so I guess that’s something. 

My father’s name is Thomas Cogsworth. His father and his father before him and his father before him all worked on clocks. Cuckoo clocks, Grandfather clocks, novelty clocks, clocks that just shouldn’t work but man are they ticking away. Dad was the first one of his family to not take up wood working, and the first to go to college. His dad supported him-Gramps was always a silent kind of guy who gave you a thumbs up if he thought it’d work-and Gramma fretted over him every day. 

Dad found his love in cooking, and then in botany, and then he decided to combine them, making pretty rad flowers from piping and fruit cut up into stars…all the neat stuff that would get more popular during my time, you know?

Anyway, they met in college, and rest is history, as they say. Got married secretly, then had a giant wedding when they could, had me, moved around as the government happily tugged Mom from here to yonder like a rook in a chess game. 

Didn’t make a lot of friends, but it was what it was. 

The ones that stuck with me, they were cool. Jenny and Mack and Gregory and Sandy. We keep in touch time to time. Jenny's got a kid with her wife. Gregory finally built his super computer. All that sweet stuff.

Got suspended from school a few a times. My ‘attitude’ was a problem.

Example of said attitude is yelling 'fuck you too' to a band director when he said I couldn't play the trumpet because my lips were 'too thin'. God, what does that even mean?

Anyway, I threw it at him. The trumpet, I mean.

Wasn't nice but here we are.

Mom’s got the same short fuse, Dad would say almost gleefully. I gotta agree. Ain’t nothing like watching recruits from a distance as she bites out orders and chews out the ones who like to test their new drill sergeant. Can’t test a brick wall, it’ll always break you first.

I'm 25 now, got my own home, do my own thing. But ah, yeah, I'm going to die.

You may be asking ‘Alice, what in the name of the seven circles of the underworld does this have to do with dying?!’. Nothing, just taking my mind off things. 

Or maybe you’re asking ‘How???’. Easier answer!

See, I live in Brooklyn, near the best burger shop this side of the US. Junior's, I mean. But I go across the bridge to rifle through Midtown Comics and peruse the fantasy life. As one should.

Anyway me and the motorbike are hanging over the bridge's edge. My fault. It's late, a fog rolled in, etc. etc. Hope my baby forgives me. Her name is Sonya and I spent well over two years making her as sleek and beautiful as possible (while her rider wears a Mohawk helmet that's as neon pink as the law and physics permit). Rolling out through the first part of the bridge, feeling that wind ruffle my mohawk, the roar of my bike under me…B-E-A-utiful. I love my bike jacket, it’s red and black and zips up perfectly even after all these years (living on energy drinks and sugary treats has given the ol’ girl a bit of a pudge, but look. I’m nice to hug!). 

A fog rolled in, real slow like, doesn’t do that usually, or maybe I’m just not around to witness it. Anyway, next thing I know, I run over something in the road and I jerk my bike to the side to get away from it. Unfortunately I smashed into the barrier and somehow my bike bumped harder, so bad the wheel jerked over the barrier keeping you from tossing your car out into the river, and over I went. I’m dangling by my handlebars with my arms wrapped around them as we speak.

So this is gonna suck when we eventually fall in.

No one can see me in this fog. I'm a goner.

Well, as my bike creaks slowly, and I tilt further over the looming ocean-they say it’s like smashing into plates of glass or concrete this far up, damn-lemme think about some things.

I’m pretty sure my phone is in my zipped pocket still, but I think if I move, I’ll go splatter splat. But…if I had to call anyone...I guess my parents. Tell 'em I'm sorry for being such a rough kid and makin' trouble when there was no need. Maybe tell my dad where his birthday present is at my house (I got him a pass to the upcoming Rose Parade, he and Mom always talk about how when they were kids, or I guess teens, they'd sneak peeks behind apartment buildings and trees. They were pretty cheap actually, but back then, twenty bucks was like...a hundred.).

Ask 'em to make sure my comics are put up.

Tell my landlord to go screw himself for not fixing my A/C this summer.

Tell 'em to take the ficus I got to Old Man Larry, he had one once outside but a bunch of punks took it and smashed it on the ground.

(If I live, that's the first thing I'm doing)

I hear a car roar by on the other side, and my breath catches for a moment. Please, please, can’t anyone see me?! At all?! It’s gotta be a giant hole in the side of the fucking bridge, are you BLIND?!

My heart hurts from beatin’ so fast. I take a breath but my visor fogs up. Shit. I tilt my head back in the dense fog…wait…wait I see something. I see a large shadow…I see-

A creak, a sudden movement, and down I go.

I scream, trying to claw my arms away from the handles as the bike jerks my arms hard, nearly yanking them from their sockets. We tumble over each other, a race to see who can die in the ocean first, a race where the winner wins nothing and the loser gets the same ending.

I hit the water…and I pass out from pure pain.

————————————————————————————————————————————————

With a shocked gasp and water rushing into my mouth, I choke and try to struggle. It’s not enough. My leather outfit-jacket and pants, gotta dress up for a nice night out you know?-is cold cold cold, tight against my skin. My helmet was shot off my head from the water, nearly popping my head off like a cork. I can’t get any traction, and I have no idea what’s up and what’s down, and my stupid fucking hair has decided ‘oh water? We’re going out? PARTY!’ and is trying to curl itself into the springy locks that Granny loves to compliment me on, but I can’t see through them and I’m trying to fight them out of my face but my hands keep smacking me in my nose and-

I let out a scared warble when a hand-a _hand_-reaches into my personal space bubble and gently grips my hand in theirs. Their hand has claws that dig into the leather of my gloves, and it has a piece of seaweed wrapped around it, and it looks like a bloated corpse, but the other hand reaches through the forest that is my hair and gently sweeps it away from my eyes.

I was wrong. Not a corpse. A person. A…terrifying person.

She-oh they’re a she alright-stares at me as I stare back, her disgustingly slimy hand gripping mine. Her face could be called ‘cute’ if not for the teal tint to it, and the slitted green eyes looking back at me. Like a fucking cat’s eye, goddamn. Her mouth is open, revealing sharp teeth that I hope she doesn’t dig into my neck with. Her hair isn’t hair, it’s tangling seaweed, green and curling with a shell here and there wrapped up.

She’s covered in teal scales, from her wrist, down to her shoulder, down her chest…and onto her tail.

Yup. Tail.

I can feel it as it sways, bumping into my legs but I’m too horrified to look down as I stare back at her. My eye sight starts to dim, bubbles exiting my mouth and nose as I struggle again, trying to free myself from her grip.

She tilts her head, the seaweed hair spreading out behind her in a mesmerizing way but look I am dying here. No time to focus on cute chicks right now. I cup my free hand over my mouth, as if that would help, but she grabs that one too, tugging it away. She’s going to kill me, that’s what this is, she’s going to kill me-

Nope. She. She’s kissing me. I can feel my nose press against hers-it’s definitely broken judging by the blood coming up-and weirdly smooth…lips? I guess? Pressing against mine.

I gasp, and she breathes into me, providing precious, beautiful oxygen. Oh oxygen I’ll never take you for granted again, I swear it.

But this is super weird, making out with…a…mermaid in the nastiest river/ocean place ever. I mean, we just met! Wait, no, shut up brain.

I push against her, now that I have my breath back, but instead of letting me go, we launch off away from the slowly sinking carnage that was once my beautiful bike, and she dragged me up and up and up until we broke the surface near a small patch of land with a staircase carved in. Probably meant for fishers.

She pauses, staring at me for a moment before letting me go. Gee. Thanks. 

I scramble to pull myself up onto the land, panting as I roll onto my back. My nose isn’t the only thing broken. I have a strain in my neck, and I’m pretty sure I fractured my arm or ankle. Everything hurts, and nothing is good right now, at all. I tilt my head, trying to draw in deeper breaths as I stare at the mermaid.

She stares back, the slitted eyes now round. It’s kind of cute, if it wasn’t for the weird bone wrapped in her seaweed hair near her ear, and the starfish suckered on the back of her head. 

“…hey.”

She blinks. “Hello.”

Well shit. Didn’t expect that. “…thanks for uh, not like, letting me die and stuff. That’s cool of you.” I lay my head back staring at the night sky. The fog’s gone, but I only recognize that faintly. “…name’s Alice. Guess we should do the meet and greet after the whole…”

“Inhalation exchange.” Her voice is odd, I notice. Like a hissing noise under it, but also a little airy, like how you think a spider would sound, not a mermaid.

“…yeah that, sure. Kiss, inhalation exchange-hey how the fuck are you up here?” Mermaids need water, right?

A splash and I look over. She’s dragged herself up like someone would from a pool, using their weight to lean over and swing their legs up. Except she leans forward, and in a way that makes me cringe, slits open slowly in her sides. “I breathe here. In water.” She slips back down, arms crossed on the ground, watching me again.

“…radical. Wish I could do that.” I slowly sit up and groan, pressing a hand to my side. “Broke rib, broke bike, broke everything. Broke phone. Hey I gave you my name, what’s yours?”

She blinked, and then a noise like the snapping of many branches and a whistling noise came from her mouth.

I blink. “…don’t uh, think I can say that. Sorry.”

She shrugs, not looking offended. Her hands do have claws, but they’re short. Just as deadly, but not as long as I had imagined. “Humans cannot.”

I frown, then shook my head. Too much for one night, too much in general. I try to stand, my knee protesting as I rolled over and held a hand on the dirt wall, dragging myself up slowly. “Thanks. Again.” I pause for a moment, staring at her. We get in a staring match for a while. This was…kinda cool…and maybe it’s the whole ‘falling into a river that usually killed people’ incident, or maybe my brains got all shook up, but all I can think of is ‘I wanna meet her again.’

“Yes.” She said, grinning brightly. Yup. Piercing teeth that could totally eat me up in a second.

…wait I said that out loud. You know what, you try thinking straight after the entire thing that I went through, okay? And you know what? Fuck it, this night went to crap so if I get to make friends with a damn mermaid, I’m making friends with the mermaid, got it?

“Cool. Gimme like…man, I don’t know. Three days? Here?”

She nodded, slipping a hand up to tuck a strand of seaweed behind her ear-weirdly normal-and she smiled at me. Her tail behind her splashed in the water. “Yes. Three days. Meet again.”

“Awesome. See ya…um…” I make a click noise, but by the wriggle of her nose, I guess I didn’t get it right. Either way, she nodded again, and off she slid back into the depths of the water.

I sigh roughly, wincing at the ache in both my sides as I limp towards the stairs, a few cigarette butts scattered, someone put a graffiti of a little flower on the top step.

Maybe I hallucinated. You know? Wasn’t there a guy that like, he fell down Niagra Falls or some shit and lived when no one else did? Maybe that’s me, surviving despite the odds…having swam nearly an entire three blocks away from the bridge…while dressed in leather…and injured.

…sounds plausible, I dig it. None of the nurses at the ER I stumble into do, giving me strange looks and offering blankets and such, talks of ‘shock’ and ‘fractured ribs’ just zooming over my head as I lay down in the hospital bed they had led me to.

When they release me with a new little cast on my arm-this’ll put a dent in the art, for sure-a binding around my ribs and medication to probably bring down an elephant if taken all at once, I’m tired and shaken and happy to find my wallet is still in my pocket but my phone is completely waterlogged.

I called a taxi from the inside of the hospital, rocking on my feet lightly with a yawn. It was…was it late? Early? It was something, for sure.

Around the corner, one of those vans that had been haunting around lately turned onto the street. It had a funky symbol on it, a triskelion if I recall, drawn on in red against the white van. Kinda gaudy. It drives by me where I’m at the corner, and starts to slow, but I scowl at whoever’s in it. 

Nuh-uh buddy, I ain’t that type of gal. Even if I was, van’s are sketchy as hell, absolutely not.

The van speeds up, racing off down the street. Cool. My taxi comes, I get in, rattle off my address as I lay down in the backseat…

..and try not to think of rushing water, slimy but powerful hands gripping mine, and a kiss that left me breathless.

…damn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nanowrimo, first day \o/


	2. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Man Larry has fears. The girls have their date night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking as many guesses and assumptions as possible, I do so love seeing people try to figure out how this is gonna play out.

The thing about Old Man Larry is this: he’s not actually off his rocker like everyone thinks.

Sometimes when his daughter comes by and he takes his meds and straightens out his mind, he’s alright. Silent, cautious, and not at all like the normal fella I talk with. It’s better for him, honestly, but when his daughter leaves he stops taking them.

He doesn’t hurt anyone, never has. He hasn’t even hurt himself. But he comes over to my stoop and he’ll stand near my railing on my little concrete steps and he’ll lean in with big eyes under his dirty beanie and quivering grey beard. “I saws ‘em. Saw ‘em again. They came by a-knockin’, I swear.”

I nod along. Some folks think he means the FBI or something, like he shouted about last week in a fight on the lawn with his daughter, but nah. Old Man Larry is basically the neighborhood snoop. He watches people come in and out and in and out.

Doesn’t have much else to do. I feel for him. I do. My first year of living in this small brick home with a run-down roof, I came home and he dragged me off the porch. Nearly punched him out but he started whispering sharply about men in suits bursting into my house, how they were obviously bad news, he knew I didn’t bring in folks who kick things and break things. At the time, yeah, I thought he really lost it, seeing things like that.

But I called the cops (if there was no one, then they could at least get his daughter to check on him) as he insisted.

My front door that I thought was shut was cracked, and two men were inside. It appeared to be a break in to steal, but no one really knew what they wanted. Off to jail they went, and to Home Depot I went to install a deadbolt and several spiffy locks (the landlord can have as many fits as he sure wants, this ain’t happening again.).

So yeah when Old Man Larry says someone came a-knockin’, I’m gonna fucking believe him.

“That’s the pits, Larry. Did they say what they wanted?”

Larry shook his head quickly, filthy fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on my railing to a tune only he could hear. “Mmm. No no no. Was them vans again. You know?”

“Yeah, I saw one yesterday…Got a clue what they’re on about?”

Larry shook his head again, his eyes darting up and down the road. The only reason I was really out here, I was sketching on my tablet with my left hand, which was…hard. Plus, sunshine, yo. Larry’s eyes skitter back down at me nervously. “No no, not a thought to be had. Y-You know, they stir me up, real bad real bad.”

I nod. “I know, Larry. You do real good when no one’s bugging you.” He does. No weird vans come by and no one come knocking his door to play a trick on him, he’s pretty easy going. Smiles and waters his plants, sits out in the little yard he’s got under his tree.

Larry bobs his head again with a rough sigh. “I’ll watch out, keep an eye out, no one’ll come here, mm-hmm.”

“Mm.” I say in response, then look up at him finally, tilting my head. “How’s your granddaughter?”

It works. He launches into a happy spiel of her first ballet recital. His daughter wouldn’t let him go until he cleaned up, but Larry ain’t as dirty as folks think. He’s got mud and dirt and things under his nails because he works in his plants all the time. He’s real good at it, kinda jealous, but in that way you’re proud of someone and only want to compliment them.

Actually, now that I think about it…I close out my tablet, stuffing it under my arm as I stand up, grinning at Larry. “Got a present for ya.”

Larry gives the ficus a brand new home, tenderly replanting it in his yard, digging the hole with his bare hands before slipping it in, talking to it so softly. I can tell he is, the way he touches the leaves with reverence, the way his head bobs every few minutes.

Larry’s the only guy I can trust with plants besides my Dad. Sometime I’ll buy him another one…maybe a banana tree…he likes those I think. I head back inside, stiffly, my side aching still with each step as I swing my dead weight of an arm against my hip. Healing sucks and takes so…freaking…long.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

It’s the third day. Larry had quickly whispered to me as I walked out of my house-I still have yet to replace my lovely Sonya-that he had seen more of the vans. I’ve seen ‘em too. They’re traipsing up and down our road, real slow like. Aggravating me, how can anyone get to doin’ what they gotta do with these stalkers about?! I tell Larry to stay in his house when they go by, so they’ll leave him alone, and he agrees, fiddling roughly with the scarf around his neck.

It’s not Winter, but Larry’s always cold.

I have to walk for a long time until I get back to the bridge. My thighs twitch and burn from the steady pace I kept up. It’s too hot for jeans but I still wore them out, with my favorite white tank top. I take the steps down onto the small patch of land away from the bridge, sit down on the land, and cross my legs, waiting. It’s dark, as it had been when we first met. So I figured…that’s when she’d be out, you know? Now…to wait…

Waiting.

Waiting.

There’s a small ripple in the water, and it takes me a moment before I realize her head is rising up above the water, slimy hands gripping the edge of the land as she leaned over, her eyes wide and round now. “You came back.”

“Um. You…did too.” I mumble, rubbing at my cheek for a moment. “So.”

She tilts her head. When she blinks, I can see the way it slides over her eyes, like a snake. …it’s a little cool. “You have a thing.”

“Huh?”

She motions at my arm, and I lift it a little, laughing. “Oh yeah! It’s a cast. My arm got all twisted up. I don’t remember if they said it was broke or not, but either way, I gotta wear this thing for a while.”

“Fascinating,” she mumbles, her tail swishing under the water behind her, almost like a puppy in excitement.

I shift, and slide myself closer to her, so we’re not so far apart. “…I can’t just call ya mermaid or…that girl. I need a name to call you.”

She blinks again. “Okay. Humans love to name things.”

I fluster a bit, and can feel my ears heat up and I know my face is so much darker now as I clear my throat. “Y-Yeah yeah I guess. …Dahlia.”

“What is that?”

“It’s a cool flower that blooms in a poof,” I ‘poofed’ my fingers with a grin, wiggling them. “It’s really neat…and I just like the name. What d’ya think?”

She tilts her head slowly, one sharp fingernail…claw…thing scratching a gouge into the earth as she seemed to think. “Yes. I approve. Dahlia.”

I grin. “Dahlia. Neat.” I pause for a moment, the water splashing against the end of the land slowly with the breeze. “Where’s your family?”

Dahlia smiles, her sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. “They live deep. Pod. A kingdom of us. We migrate here during the warm months.”

Oh that’s cool. Like birds, I think, as I nod. Her hand darts out, startling me, but she gently takes my hand in hers, then guides it close, cupping both hands over it with large eyes. “So different…”

My fingers twitch in her grip. “Um…y-yeah uh, we’re…you’re teal and I’m you know, black.”

She shakes her head, the seaweed slapping her shoulders as she slowly slips her hand into mine. Oh. Oh. 

“Scales. You are soft. Soft.” Her nails dig in lightly, and while the hand is still slimy, it’s no longer disgustingly so. I’ve grown used to it pretty quickly, and it just feels like slime you buy at the store and smush your fingers in. I laugh a bit nervously.

“Yeah…don’t got scales. You do. You’re hand’s rough,” I mumble, her thumb pressing against mine in wonder. It’s like small scales, like those things on the pillows that you can rub on and the sequins change color. They’re not as pronounced as the ones that lead up her arms, that lead down her body, that make up her tail. They’re…small. “I mean, obviously you haven’t seen a lot of humans, I guess?”

She blinks in that unsettling way. “Yes.”

I frown. “Huh?”

“They fall. From the bridge.” She motions with the hand not pressing against my own towards the towering bridge. “Down they go. I see them. Or they reach in, from large things, splashing at fish.”

“…boats. You mean boats.”

Dahlia grins widely. “Yessss. They throw things in, to feed fish. Delicious things.” Her tongue slides out and licks her lip, a kind of snake looking thing…it, too, is teal colored. “Brave ones in funny slick suits and large things on backs.”

“Scuba divers? Why would-” Oh. Police ones. Right. That would make more sense than a random citizen deciding to scrounge around in the most likely trash strewn bottom of the length of ocean here. “Hm. And you don’t…approach ‘em?”

She shakes her head slowly. “We tried. Once. A very long time ago. They took long things with pointed ends, and hit us with them. No more, Sire says, no more. Never again.”

I grimace. Well, all myths had to start somewhere, I guess…she’s still messing with my hand, pressing her thick claw against the edge of my short nail curiously, tapping at it. “…are ya gonna get in trouble for uh…you know, bein’ here?”

“No.” But she doesn’t elaborate, and honestly, I don’t ask her to. She flexes my fingers, cupping her hand over mine, the small scales tickling the inside of my wrist. It’s nice, sitting here, doing…nothing. I still brim with questions, but I’m not even sure what they are. I can feel them though, bubbling like a cauldron, but it ain’t producing nothing. After a while, she slowly releases my hand, her hands back onto the earth once more. “I must go.”

I flush a bit, nodding, my hand curled up in my lap. My phone was destroyed on my adventure in the water and her saving me, but thankfully I had freaking insurance on it. But I don’t have it on me. I know time has passed, though. The usual night time boats that circle their spotlights on the waters have already made their route, turning in. It’s really late. “Yeah…me too. Can uh, you wanna meet up, again?”

Dahlia grins as she sinks into the inky water. “Four days,” she murmurs before the water swallows her up like a goliath. 

Four days. My casted hand twinges as the last of the pain killers finally sinks away, and my side tingles, and my pants are a bit dirty and my other hand feels like I’ve got dried Elmer’s glue on it.

I’ve never been more excited!

I head home, nearly tripping on a gap in the sidewalk. The graffiti of the flower now has a wicked looking grin on it. The wind picks up, rustling the grass and the trees…

I’m not stupid. I see the van. I see it down at the corner of Macy’s Grocery Store, a block away from me. It starts up. It wants to intimidate me. If I wasn’t already injured, I’d stand my ground, but instead I hobble along quickly into the cafe across the street. It’s a cross between an internet cafe and bookshop. The bookshop part isn’t very big, maybe three bookshelves full, but there are plenty of computers and coffee to go around.

And plenty of witnesses.

I stand in the doorway inside as the van rolls slowly down the street. I can hear someone greet me, and I mumble a ‘hello’ back. A boy is cursing up a storm as someone defeats him in a video game, and three girls are watching a movie together. It looked like an animated film when I had came in, but it not might be. The van rolls on. The windows are tinted. The triskelion glows from the side, embedding itself into my mind’s eye.

I don’t know if I won the staring match. The van rolls away. I’m left feeling breathless and angry.

Who are they? Some new gang in town? A cult? Whatever they are, I’m staying as far away as possible.

Besides, I have a date in four days! Can’t let this get me down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alice doesn't even know if Dahlia dates and she's already making plans. Good on her, she needs a little something to lift her up after the violent beginning I gave her
> 
> (Insurance on phones is a joke, you send your phone in, they might not even be able to fix it, so you gotta pay for a whole new phone WHILE ALSO paying 15 bucks to ship it out.)
> 
> Man. I know how I want it to go. But it's the getting there that's the hard part >>


	3. It's Dad's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice's Dad has a birthday. It's a good time to reminisce a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll ever go to the movies and you know the beginning is good and thanks to spoilers, you can't wait to see the end, but it's all the middle stuff that you're not sure if it'll turn good or bad?
> 
> Anyway, here's a chapter!

The pain killers for my hand and my ribs knock me out pretty solid during the day. I don’t take them often, even if my hand twinges in pain and my ribs make it hard to breathe, but it’s a small price to pay to have my head about me. Anyway, I’m gathering up some stuff to show off to Dahlia. Ain’t much we can talk about really. ‘What’s your favorite movie?’ isn’t the question to ask someone who lives underwater. Plus, don’t think she could ask me, say, how I like the taste of scallops.

I pause in my sketching of a very small acorn on a tree. What did scallops taste like? Probably nasty and squish. Grody. 

I make a face, and go back to my sketching. Dad’s birthday is tomorrow, so I’ll pop ‘round, give him his gift, celebrate and stuff. Hope he likes the tickets. He should, Mom said they hadn’t been since they picked up shop and moved to Oregon (and then to Illinois, and then Texas, and then Florida…). I think he’d like it. Mom’s home for a month, they can hop a plane nowadays, get back in like, two days.

I put away my sketching for today. I better rest up, take my meds during the night, it’d suck being in pain all fucking day on Dad’s birthday of all days.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————

I should invest in a car. Or at lest start shoppin’ for a bike. Ya can’t replace your true love, though. I step out of the taxi, tipping the driver an extra five-dude wasn’t poking questions at me, and he had a little image of his family near the radio, sue me for having a heart-and opening the little gate to my parents’ house. Kind of. Army pops you around here, there, and yonder, but Dad always says we should make the house our home. We’ll be living in it anyway, he’d say, why not make ourselves comfortable?

I don’t, and really can’t, go with them if they move again, but I can at least help pack up. But, they’ve stayed here for three years. Seems pretty stable right now.

The house is pretty small. It’s white with a red roof and red door, with a set of stairs that lead up to the door. I shut the gate behind me. On the handle of the gate, it says ‘Please ring bell :)’ , although I’ve never known anyone to read our sign. The front yard used to have a mess of flowers and vines and trees, but now it only has two trees, one on each side. A stone walkway, and short trimmed grass, with a few dandelions around. Kids stomp through, messin’ things up, so Dad moved the garden to the back.

Kinda miss the look of it, though. It was more…homey.

I knock ‘shave and a haircut’ on the door, then when I jiggle the knob it ends the tapping with ‘two bits’. The door opens easily, so I know they either were expecting me-which, duh-or Dad forgot to lock the door when he went out last time.

My knocking song only amuses me, and I will never ever let it go, okay? Okay then.

“I’m here!” I call into the house, shutting the door behind me and shucking off my shoes onto the side of the doorway entrance. I hate stomping around in shoes in the house, socks is where it’s at (plus who’s to judge me when I slide in all ice skater style?? No one, that’s who!!). The door opens straight into the living room. There’s a couch with a blanket laid over the back, an armchair with a book resting in the seat with a bookmark sticking out of it. Judging by the color of the end of it, it’s the carrot one I bought him when I was eight in one of those ‘fall bazaars’. 

There’s a lamp near the armchair, and a rug that’s laid out in a funny design that makes me dizzy when I look at it. Always did. Glass coffee table, and a TV on a stand that’s playing some musical judging by the dramatic sounds and someone singing loudly. I can hear something searing in a pan, and smell bok choy cookin’ away. Dad always did have a love of that weird green veggie. I shuck off my jacket, leaving me in the soft blue button up that I’d bought a while back for a date that didn’t pan out.

Dad’s voice pours out from the kitchen, “Hello, sweetie! In here, I’m making rice and-”

“Bok choy, I can smell it!” I call back with a laugh. I can hear a muffled laugh, my mother’s here as well then. Wasn’t sure if she was out or not. The tickets burn in my pocket, but I power through the want to shove them in his face like a little girl showing him my new colored picture in hopes he praises my artistic skills.

(Am I not allowed to feel really happy when I make my parents happy?? Let me have this!)

I swing into the kitchen, socked feet hitting the tiles. Cold! Cold cold cold…I prefer carpet.

The kitchen’s the same. Same fridge with magnets holding pictures of one or all three of us, meal plans, grocery lists that never get taken down, doctor’s appointments, and such. Same cabinets and counters and stove that has a spill of pink nail polish on the edge from when we first moved in. Same island in the middle with a row of lights that lights up the kitchen even more than the main one does.

Mom sits on a stool at the island, a newspaper folded in front of her, pen held tightly as she peered at the Sudoku puzzle that’s, well, puzzling her. Heh. Puns. No one enjoys my puns, dammit.

Her hat’s off, her hair is pressed against her head tightly, a bun tightened against her neck. There’s some grey hairs here and there, and there’s wrinkles on her eyes and on her cheeks. Her knuckles are as wrinkled Granny’s is. I was always intrigued by her hands, holding them when I sat on her lap as a child, pushing and prodding at the funny skin.

Mom’s in a sweater and fuzzy pajama pants, as usual. She ticks a box. “Alice.”

Mom’s voice always carried an undercurrent to it, something that kinda poked you and said ‘you can’t lie to me’. It’s rough and deep, like a scratch on a vinyl record, but as a kid, hearing her voice sing Frank Sinatra and dancing me around the room until I fell asleep was the most soothing thing in the world.

I wave, taking a seat at the end, elbows on the counter and cupping my chin as I lean forward. “Moooom. ‘Sup? How’s the recruits? Did anyone run away yet?”

She ticks another box, her mouth quirking like she wants to smile. “You are downright horrible to them.”

“I’m not the one shoutin’ at ‘em while they run around in the mud.”

She shrugs casually, a hand coming up to drag an errant hair behind her ear. “I suppose. It builds character. But no. Not this time.”

I grin cheekily at her, then turn to look at my dad.

Gramps showed me a picture of him as a teen. He looked exactly like ‘Boy Next Door’ material. I don’t think he ever grew out of it. His hair is always curling up, even worse than mine sometimes (it’s a joke that he’s where I get my locks from), and his glasses slip down his nose constantly. He got smacked in the nose once, and it’s got a bit of a funny bump to it, and he looks like he could rip apart a piece of wood like that hunk in the hero movie, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do anything like that.

He can’t even stand to smush a spider without pleading with my mom to take it outside to ‘save its life’. Dad’s so neat. Mom calls him ‘soft’ but she smiles when she says it.

His head turns back, a grin on his face, that apron I put my handprints on at Summer camp with paint protecting him from the popping oil. “Sweetie, you always tease the poor new recruits. They’re trying!”

“Dad, the bok choy.”

He jumps, his spatula tapping at the green veggies in the bowl thing. Wok? I don’t cook. Not like Dad anyway. “It’s so wonderful that you’ve come over, sweetie, I thought we could spend a day, eat some bok choy, go out and get some apple cider!”

Mom makes another tick in a box. “You just want apple cider.”

“Is that so horrible, love?” He peeks over his shoulder and I roll my eyes with a chuckle. Apple cider is pretty good…and now I really, really want some.

But I wait, letting them chatter at each other for a bit. I had told them I broke my hand falling off the bike. Got a scolding from Dad and a curious look from Mom, but they didn’t ask anything else. I wait until Dad’s serving up the bok choy and rice, and then Mom pulls out a small cake from the fridge (she baked it, I can tell, as Dad’s a…perfectionist, and she’s made multiple swirls with purple icing that have no rhythm or rhyme to them, but Dad’s name right in the middle) and lights up a small candle and we all wish him a happy birthday.

Cake and rice and bok choy…what a combo. But look, I’m still recovering from a near death incident that I’m not exactly allowing myself to think about so comfort food is all I got left okay?

Mom gets Dad a new pair of gardening gloves, three really sharp-and popular? I guess?-knives, and an Indian cookbook. Dad’s always wanted to make curry and eat it, although he’s not too good with spices.

…wait is curry spicy?? Am I missing out on something amazing because I’ve judged it too harshly? That’s it. I need to eat some curry now.

I shake my head, happily pulling out the neat envelope to hand to Dad who of course says I shouldn’t have gotten him anything. He says this every year to both of us, and to his parents, and to Mom’s parents.

(Dad’s parents sent him some carving knives and a handmade scarf, Mom’s parents sent him a woven blanket with very beautiful colors in a waterfall pattern. We have so many woven blankets, but Mom says they’re from family and thus must be cherished. Dad’s mom always makes a scarf for everyone ‘so ye won’t catch yer death out there’ she’d chirp back at me over the phone. I mean, I gotta agree, those scarves are damn warm.)

When Dad sees the tickets, he’s super happy. He hugs me, which not unusual, but he’s kind of vibrating almost? Shaking, maybe? I dunno. “I mean, no one’s doing nothin’ this year, are we? Would be a quick trip for ya.”

Mom raises an eyebrow at me. “You do not want to attend?”

I shake my head quickly. “Nope, that’s you two’s thing, thought it could be like. Date night or something.”

Dad does that snort laugh that sounds like it kills a man and he claps a hand on my shoulder. “Oh sweetie, you’re so kind. I think a day out would be a marvelous time for us! Right, Lindiwe love?”

Mom hums, tapping the pen against her lips for a moment. “A day, you say?”

Dad nods, he kinda looks like a big kid, hah. “Yes, we haven’t had a date night in a while, have we?”

Ouch. Actually, I don’t remember them going out a lot as a kid anyway. Mom working, Dad…at home…with me. 

Hm.

Mom doesn’t flinch like I thought she would’ve, or frown in that way that she thinks you’re taking a dig at her. She smiles instead, folding her paper down in front of her under her bowl that was empty. “You have a grand idea, Thomas dear. You’re right, our date nights have been sparse. Let us go and watch the beautiful flowers as they pass by, yes?”

Dad is nearly bouncing in his seat at this point. He’s gonna blast off to Mars if we ain’t careful. “Absolutely! Oh it’ll be wonderful…!” 

He starts to go on and on about what happens at the parade, Mom nodding with a small smile on her face.

I’m happy Dad’s happy. What I was aimin’ for, you know. Saved up enough for it (and, he hasn’t seen yet, two plane tickets. Who’s the best? Me. I am. Without a doubt.).

We do go and get apple cider, after the excitement. There’s a cafe down the block that sells it all year long, and we walk to a bench near a park and sit in the quiet of it all. It’s a ritual we’ve always done. Apple cider, bench, watch the people, sometimes talkin’ but ain’t about a lot. As a kid, it was boring, I won’t lie. Now? It’s nice, even though at my own house there’s not a lot of talkin’ going on with me, alone. It’s a different quiet with people around. A soft quiet. 

I sip my cider, and despite the fact that it’s not even winter yet, I can imagine a small gust of breath curling out in front of me, my hands encased in mittens, boots crunching into beautiful white snow and making small indentions in it.

It makes it all the sweeter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a kid, until she passed, when I went to visit my great aunt I'd do the same thing.
> 
> knocking out 'shave and a haircut', and she never locked her door, so I'd wiggle the handle so it went 'two bits' with the click of the handle.
> 
> It's pretty fun, ya'll should try it sometime.


	4. A Meeting Requested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice and co learn what's up, what's down, and what's all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally on track~

When I was a kid, Mom had a little orange TV with bunny ears and a handle that you could cart around. She would set it up in the car for me, settled in the long seat against the door on the other side, back when the whole ‘buckle up everywhere’ wasn’t as prevalent as it is now. Heck, Mom used to say how she and her friends would ride around in the back of a pickup, drinking root beer and cream soda. Definitely not something you’d do now. The orange TV had a small VHS player attached to it, and Dad had bought a small generator (before they came out with things you can set in your cigarette lighter to plug, uh, plugs into), and I’d snuggle up with my toy bunny and watch a movie about bunnies until the tape would wear out.

Can you tell what my favorite animal is? Hah.

Anyway, I inherited the little TV when I moved out, and I hadn’t used it much. Got a bigger and slightly used LCR TV to play XBox on. Might dip and get a flat screen one day…for now I have to build back up and get a bike. Deep sigh.

Old Man Larry sits with me out on the concrete steps of my house, the little orange TV dragged out and placed in front of us. With him is Cassidy, his granddaughter, who’s honestly an amazing little girl with red little curls and she can tap dance! Can’t speak much-she’s only four-but eh, she’s got time, right? Cassidy’s got on some cute little red dress that looks like it’s been under an iron and she’s sitting on a step just under Larry’s legs, kicking her little feet in their little black tap shoes, a thumb shoved squarely in her mouth with wide eyes.

She looks like one of those dolls you see in the novelty shops.

With us is another neighbor kid on the other side. He’s a teen but taller than me, and his face looks like someone dipped their hand in white paint and slapped him hard. Cassidy adores him, and he likes bringing over little toy cars to let her play. Honestly, kid’s a natural, probably babysits his cousins or something. My friends always talked about that. Too bad my family’s so small, but oh well.

On the TV plays a newsreel. One of the vans with the triskelion is in the background around a corner, and a man in sunglasses and a suit that looked more for a groom at the altar is talking to the reporter. “Yes, we’re attempting to scrounge around the bottom of the East River. So far we’ve found plenty of evidence of the brain eating amoeba, so we must caution any and all citizens from fishing, entering, or boating across the waters as of this moment.”

“That sure does sound frightening,” the reporter responds, speaking into her microphone. “Is there an estimate over how long? Should we start boiling water or buy bottled from the stores?”

She flicked the microphone back to him and he cleared his throat, adjusting his black tie. “As the samples were from farther up north, and as they were from a deeper area in the bay, we are hopeful that the amoeba has not made its way here. However, to cautious, we do suggest everyone start boiling their water, even bottled ones, if they are going to bathe, drink, washing, or using it in cooking.”

The reporter nodded, turning to the camera with a serious expression. “You heard it here, folks. A dangerous amoeba may be blooming in our river, but we have the technology and our government doing everything in its power to protect us. I’m Lin Xiu and this is-” 

I turn off the TV with a sigh, dragging my hand down my face. The neighbor kid, Matt, balances on his bike near the steps. “That’s bad, isn’t it? Gonna eat our brains like zombies.”

“You watch a lot of horror movies, kiddo,” I grumble, nodding. “Not good. Tell your parents to boil their water, kay? Tell your friends too, in case they didn’t see it.”

Matt nods, leaning over to reach over to Cassidy, who happily slaps a high five to his hand with a shrill squeal, and off he went, dragging his bike back across the little yard, making a small but unnoticeable trench with his tires. Good kid. 

Larry shifts to bounce Cassidy up onto his knee, and she swings her legs, as if it’s time to play as he talks. “Dunno about all this. Yes. Stinks. They’ve been around too long, too long.”

I shake my head, reaching over to wiggle Cassidy’s little shoe and make her laugh, clapping her hands. “Nah, explains it. Don’t want us all to die. They’d lose their taxpayers.” I grin widely and Larry bursts into raspy chuckles, snorting in between.

He’s right, though. Something does stink about this. The van that slowed down outside the hospital in front of me, the same one that slowed down in front of the cafe after I came back from seeing Dahlia. These aren’t coincidences. And honestly, if they were so fucking concerned, you’d think they’d grow a pair and get out to ask me if everything’s alright.

I don’t say this to Larry, though. He’s already pretty wound up from his daughter rushing over to drop off Cassidy. Her husband’s in the hospital and Larry likes the guy, so he’s worried, and it makes him agitated. From what I could hear, it’s probably not the brain eating…thing.

Hopefully.

I nudge him as I stand up, grabbing up the little TV. “Sorry our movie marathon got cut short, cupcake,” I grin at Cassidy. “Larry, go on and go feed her up, I’m betting she’s hungry.”

Larry nodded, still looking nervous but he stood up, patting my shoulder-Cassidy reaching out with little baby pudgy fingers and poking at my cheek with wide grey eyes-and off they went back next door. Cassidy might need a snack but Larry sure looked pale. Bet he didn’t eat a lick of breakfast and Granny always said a good meal can settle a head into thinkin’ straight. She’s right, of course, Granny always is. I take the TV back in, dragging it to rest near the TV stand with the LCR on it.

I scrub at my face fiercely. Something sure stunk of it, but damn if I couldn’t figure it out. Whatever. I started gathering up the things I wanted to show off to Dahlia that night, deciding to sleep part of the day away in a haze of pain killers and stress.

————————————————————————————————

When I make it to our meeting spot, Dahlia’s already there, looking a little bored before she looks up to find me, her face lighting up a bit…maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

Tonight I got on my favorite T-Shirt with a dragon curling around the back and around to the front, peeking out of a small pocket on my chest. Blue jeans and comfy sneakers. I drop the duffel bag on the ground gently, settling down as well, both legs crossed. “Wanna see some human stuff?”

“Yes…” She hisses, enthralled as she leans forward with those wide eyes. I happily unzip my duffel, pulling out a few items. I show her my bluetooth speaker-I still haven’t gotten my phone back so I’m using a flip phone, not able to play music for her-and she prods at the weird speakers, gasping as it lights up when I turn it on. 

“It can make noise but I ain’t got my phone so. But, cool yeah?”

Dahlia blinks, the snake eyelids slipping over her eyes as she nods. “Coooool.” Sweet. I pick up a red and blue handheld gaming device, grinning as I hold up the screen to her.

“This can play video games…and videos, now, I mean. Kinda wack but they’re working on it.”

She leans in, her nose touching the screen, gasping when it turns on and backing up a little. “What kind of game? Hunting? Hiding?”

I shake my head, shifting so I’m sideways to the river but so that she can see as I click onto a game where you run around as a little farmer. “Nuh uh. Well, not all the time. They’re all different. Some ya can fight, some ya just ah, live…another life.” My character picks up a fossil I hadn’t gotten before and does the little move it does when it finds something new. She gasps, pointing at it.

“You! But. Not you! You found…it.” She mumbles, watching in intrigue as the little farmer scoots around the screen.

“Yeah, it can get confusin’ if you think too much on it. Here, though, lemme find ya a video instead.” I save my game, and she’s nearly leaning on my arm, her seaweed hair brushing against the nape of my neck as I click on the app. It’s…not like actual seaweed. Seaweed is sticky and slimy, but her hair feels…light, like a piece of paper. It’s…odd.

I show her a video of someone dancing, and she makes a happy trilling noise, swaying back and forth with them. “Ya like it, huh? Oh yeah, here.”

I laid it down so she could keep watching, dragging out a puzzle cube. “Have ya found one of these?” Dahlia shakes her head, gently taking it from me, jumping when her fiddling makes one edge move.

“Oh!”

“Yeah, you uh, line up the colors, get ‘em all in order, and you…win! ‘S fun.”

Dahlia blinks, cupping the cube to her chest as she nods. It’s silent for a moment, except for the disco song playin’, and the waves crashin’. I dig into my duffel bag, taking out my tablet to show her my drawings. She’s intrigued, watching me spin through the little images. One looks like a melting image of a sunset, one shows a dreamy look of a person waving. I think she likes my art. She didn’t say it out loud, but ya know, I can tell. I show her more games on my console, and she keeps the cube held tight to her chest. 

She never lets it go, and well, I don’t feel too bad lettin’ her go off with it. Don’t much care for puzzle cubes. I like the ring puzzles. She doesn’t say much at the end, but she grins broadly at me before she swims away. “I shall treasure it always,” she hisses, and down she goes.

…well! I think that went amazing! Maybe I should bring a sketchbook and show her how to draw next time…

I pack up my things, and happily head home, feeling light and happy, my face feels stretched by how hard I’m grinning.

When I get home, there’s a card in between my doorknob latch. I reach out slowly, tugging it free of the door.

‘Mr. James Illoky, FBI’, a symbol above the sharp black words. I stare at it, then slowly flip it over. ‘Meet me at the cafe you ran into tomorrow at 11 AM.’

Oh, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh!!! Lmao


	5. Cafe Date(?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a meeting. Someone messes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter but heeere it is!

When I was a little girl, Granny told me that one should always dress up when an important event occurs. A funeral, a wedding, and a meeting with someone new. (Births, she says, are rather chaotic and in the end no one cares who’s wearing what. I’d have to agree.)

I dunno if that covers ‘meeting the FBI in an internet cafe for undisclosed reasons’ but I’m gonna assume so. 

I wear my ‘dizzy’ dress, it’s a pattern that zig zags all over in various shades of orange, black and white. I’m told it looks like one of those optical illusions, where you’re never quite sure if what you’re seeing is right or not. I have a red belt around it, making it flare out around my calves, some neat sandals that I forgot I owned (I’ve painted my toes in electric blue, gotta flex my paint skills!!), and a straw hat with a ribbon around it. Plus my sideways purse, since I have no pockets…my phone should be in today at least! I spritzed my hair with water so I have my curls bouncing under the hat as I hurry out of the house, waving at Larry as I pass by.

Hey, I may not be able to intimidate him back, but dammit I’ll out-fashion him.

The cafe isn’t as crowded as it was that night I had rushed inside. There’s slightly bored baristas, a man at one computer looking at a long string of numbers, clicking every few minutes. Two girls near the book, one of them eagerly whispering to the other, probably trying to impress upon her how much she absolutely needs to read this one book right here. At one of the tables sat a man in a tuxedo looking suit, sunglasses, and a bad haircut that let his black hair point up like a bad anime character.

Is my life turning into an anime? I don’t even have funny colored hair! I wonder if I can choose…

He goes to stand but, you know, I’ve got excellent conclusion-drawing skills so I’m already at the table by the time he gets up. He coughs into his hand, placing it on the back of his chair. “Apologies, I assumed that you would be unable to find me.”

I look around very slowly at the nearly empty cafe, then back at him. “You shouldn’t hide so well.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t reply, instead gesturing at the seat across from him. The seats are curled metallic types, pink for some reason, makes you feel like you’re at a tea party. He sits back down across from me, his hands resting on the table as I crossed my arms. “I didn’t know what you liked to drink.”

“A Caffe Latte with three shots of caramel, one chocolate, and sprinkles.” He stared at me for a moment, and as if quite confused but still willing to go, he slowly raised up from the chair. I break out into a giggle-snort, the kind that hurts your face and cheeks when you’re done. “I’m not serious! Don’t even think they’d entertain ya if ya asked ‘em. Red Bull and a half a cup of unsweet tea.” He still looked like he was expectin’ another laugh on him, but off he went to the baristas. I place my purse on my lap, I read one time some lady had hers stolen right from her side when she had it danglin’! Not chancing that! I’m already down a phone, don’t need ta heap on a bank card with it!

He comes back with the red bull tucked under his arm, a half cup of tee and his own black coffee. The moment he gives me mine, I pop open the can and start pouring it into the cup after popping the lid off. I replace it, then swirl it around for a while. He looks like he’s trying to decide between bein’ concerned or tryin’ ta look it over. Wiiiimp.

I pop the lid back over, down a gulp, then set it back down. “A’right. Shoot. Watcha want?”

He clears his throat again-if he’s sick I’m gonna launch him into the river for getting ME sick-and straightens his tie. “On the way back to our headquarters, a few agents mentioned seeing you come up from the side of the river. We were…concerned.”

“ ‘Bout what?” I mutter, sipping at my drink. I know what he means, but I like making things hard for people I don’t know.

“Well, the brain eating amoeba, for one thing.” He laces his hands together, and my eyes are drawn to the cup of coffee cooling against the side of his arm, then back up at him. “Plus it was very late, they claimed, and foggy.”

I click my tongue, slowly swirling the tea again in my hand. “They weren’t concerned enough to stop and ask, were they?”

He doesn’t respond, but he lets out a slow breath as if he’s talking to a kid who won’t tell who ate the last cookie. “Why were you so close to the river? That’s all we’d like to know, if we have to consider you patient zero, if we have to have the hospital check you out.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “I’m allowed ta not ask permission from no one to be out late, and I certainly ain’t gotta tell you. You ain’t my mama.” I narrow my eyes at him, and the skin next to his eyes twinge. I still can’t see his eyes.

“It is merely concern, I assure you. Besides,” he pointed at my casted hand, the dark purple faded by now despite my attempts to keep dust and dirt from it, “I’m quite certain you didn’t have that when the agents spotted you. Did you fall in? Did someone hurt you?”

I grumbled, my fingers flexing in the cast lightly as I roll my eyes. “I fell an’ tried ta catch myself. Just a dumb accident, lay off.”

“I see.” Mister Illoky said, although it sounded like he didn’t see at all. He took a slow sip of his coffee, place it back down on the table. “Well, beyond the amoeba, we’re also investigating…sightings.”

“…sightings?”

“Indeed. Fisherman and tourists saying they’ve seen something in the river.” He shrugs casually, but beyond that, nothing else changes. “While that’s not our primary objective, we’re asking citizens to keep an eye out if they work near or go near the river.” He takes out a card, another one with his name, but with his number as well, under it. I take it in my hand, fiddling with it as he talks about how I should call them if I see anything.

“Did you say they said it was foggy?”

He paused, staring at me for a moment. I stare back, the card between my fingers tightly to the point it’s creasing. “Did they say it was foggy when they saw me?”

“Ye-Yes, yes, it was foggy and hard to see,” he stammers, a break in his armor. I twiddle the card, almost spinning it between my fingers, my lips in a creased line.

My dad says when I frown, I look like my Granny, all tall and steady in a roarin’ sea. (Never did appreciate the sentiment, used ta pitch a nice little fit and whine if he said that, hah.)

“Funny,” I say, popping open my tea again to take a sip, “As I recall it, the fog-which was only in one place, mind you-had already rolled on over by the time they spotted me.”

He doesn’t say anything, watches me watching him. A manual clock ticks by somewhere, or maybe that was just a trick on the ears, somethin’ you’d hear in some silence, I suppose. Eventually, he stands, leaving his coffee on the table. “Call us, if you see anything,” and like a coward, he walks away.

Before he can enter his car-all sleek and black like a cliche villain-I stand in the opening of the cafe, whistling sharply at him. His head snaps up, and I look at him, clutching my purse by my side, the tea mix already drank and tossed in the trash.

“You left me for dead, without a thought for what life I had, and I hope that rots on your soul.”

He doesn’t answer, and I don’t expect him to. He gets in his car, and off he goes, but damn him if he thinks I’ll forget this.

I don’t have a fucking clue what they’re dredging at the bottom of the East River for, and maybe I’m a bit slow on the uptake because of that, but they brutally shoved me in the middle of their plans and I won’t take that lyin’ down.

The East River is Dahlia’s (temporary) home. Even if she and her…clan? Pod? Family? Avoid the divers, eventually they’ll get found out. Or they’ll succumb to the brain eating amoeba (does it attach onto mermaids? Or is it only a human disease?), or whatever large thing’s swimmin’ in the river. 

I slip the crinkled card into my purse. I’ll at least warn Dahlia, try an’ get her to move ‘em a little early and out of the way of the FBI. And then, well…

Mister James Illoky has made a grave miscalculation thinkin’ I’d die in the river, and he’s going to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UwU
> 
> James knows a little more than he's telling, for certain.


End file.
